


Loving Hands

by CasmusRex



Series: Depraved Kinks with Real Motivations [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Clever Harry Potter, Come Shot, Non-Sexual Sexual Curiosity, Other, Public Hand Jobs, Urination, beastiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26718865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasmusRex/pseuds/CasmusRex
Summary: Harry Potter has not had many kind touches in his life; and, clinging desperately to a tree, comes to realize Ripper might not have either.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ripper
Series: Depraved Kinks with Real Motivations [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944508
Kudos: 73





	Loving Hands

Harry Potter cowered on a limb of the tree that shaded the rear of his relatives' home. Below, his Aunt Marge's (small, but relatively feral) dog, Ripper clawed at the smooth birch bark as if he were about to climb it. This state of affairs had persisted some twenty minutes thus. His relatives bore a gluttonous appetite for new stimuli, be it food, entertainment (that would be Harry being injured and afraid), or any one of the plenty and disposable pleasures modern life could provide. They had therefore become bored at the sight of Harry—all a tangle of short, skinny extremities—clinging precariously at a dangerous height, escaping the mauling that awaited him below.

The boy didn't know much about animals or their care, his life having always been one of deprivation; and his family... the Dursleys. They didn't care much for pets. It seemed that any practice which might require empathy of them didn't receive much attention. If there was one which did, it would be affection for his cousin, Dudley. On his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's part the paternalistic sort and, for Dudley, a subsuming narcissism that can only be explained by a lack of discipline and the peculiarities of youth.

But even Harry, having none of the knowledge that comes from having a dog as a pet, could tell when at long last Ripper had tired himself. The dog gave up on his futile climb and, spinning lazily in a circle, plopped himself at the base of the tree.

Harry sighed with relief. He knew from experience that when Ripper was tired, he was docile, even towards his most hated enemy: Harry. He carefully shook out each numb limb in their turn and, once the tingling rush of blood through them had subsided, began his descent. One he had safely made it back to the ground, he warily eyed his pursuer.

Maybe, Harry thought, it would be nice if he and Ripper were friends. Or it would be nice to have any friends. For someone as lonely as Harry, any sort of social connection from any being would be welcome, be it snake, dog, or toad (as he sometimes found hopping in the grass, oblivious to the death that would await them if spied by the ever easily frightened Aunt Petunia).

"You aren't so bad, are you?" Harry said in a low voice, surprised he had even said it at all.

Ripper lifted his head and stared hard into Harry's eyes for a moment, before resuming his rest.

"I'd bet you just want someone to touch you. No one ever touches me, except to hurt me," Harry said. He slowly crept towards Ripper and carefully reached out a hand towards the dog's head.

Having sensed some change in the air, or heard Harry's movements, Ripper again raised his head and looked at Harry. When there was no more reaction that that, Harry closed the gap between his hand and the top of Ripper's head. With only centimeters between them, Ripper stretched his neck and made contact with Harry's palm. Harry almost jerked back in fear but, through some instinct, remained motionless as Ripper leaned into the touch. Harry relaxed.

"See, you can be a good boy. You just want love," Harry said, inexplicably in a sotto voice, as he began to stroke between the dog's ears.

Harry sat down next to Ripper. Ripper, now having had a taste of attention, rearranged himself in a flurry of limbs to lay on his back, head resting against Harry's thigh.

Harry took the hint, beginning to rub the dog's chest and belly even as Ripper used his powerful hind legs to press himself closer to Harry.

"That's good, isn't it?" Harry asked. Ripper merely continued his prolonged and desperate stretch into Harry's touch. Harry rubbed lower, to where the fur thinned on Ripper's belly to become almost a smooth expanse of skin. "Who's a good boy?" Harry asked.

Harry kept his eyes on Ripper's face as he rubbed, half out of fear and half out of fascination. Harry had always found the dog to be ugly, all folds of skin and snarling teeth; but, in this relaxed state, Ripper almost seemed friendly.

"Awww," Harry said, giving Ripper a particularly hardy rub on his belly. Harry watched as the dog's tongue rolled out and his lips pulled back from his teeth, giving the appearance of a smile. Harry smiled back.

His attention was diverted, however, when his hand encountered something wet feeling on Ripper's stomach. Looking down, Harry could see, from the furry mound between Ripper's hind legs, a slender pink shaft of flesh peeking out.

"What's this?" Harry asked. He knew, from common sense and observation, that this is from where Ripper urinated and, by extension, must be where his penis lay. But the appearance and mechanism of the organ, so different from his own, were a curiosity to Harry.

Harry continued rubbing Ripper's stomach, his curious hand dipping lower, causing the mottled pink shaft to bob rigidly up and down. Harry couldn't lift his eyes from it.

Harry reached lower to cup Ripper's furry sheathe, pulling it back to expose more of the smooth wet shaft. Harry became alarmed when he could feel a lump inside growing with Harry's touches; but, seeing no reaction other than Ripper's continued panting, Harry continued.

Harry rubbed Ripper's groin in a circular motion, first gently than with increasing pressure as he groped the dog's bollocks. Harry couldn't stop himself, armed with a determined sense of curiosity. He questioningly gripped Ripper's penis and Ripper's hips jerked. He rubbed the hidden bulge with deliberate pressure and Ripper's pants grew louder.

This dog, who had been ready to tear Harry apart not ten minutes before was now at Harry's command. The thought sent a thrill of accomplishment through Harry who had always thought he was, contrary to the Dursley's assurances, a likeable boy. Any doubts were now cast away as Ripper keened and pressed into Harry's thigh as the boy's hand continued to fondle his cock, his knot, his balls.

Ripper shuddered under Harry's hands and, to Harry's surprise, began spraying wetly in sharp jets from the narrow opening at the tip of his penis. Harry at first thought Ripper was urinating on him until he noticed that the fluid was translucent and somewhat viscous.

And copious. Harry, like many boys his age, wasn't entirely oblivious to the mechanics of sex. But during the nearly dry orgasms he managed to achieve in his cupboard, Harry did not imagine that such a volume of semen could be produced. Harry, in the moment, felt proud that he had caused such a reaction, even as Ripper slowed the shuddering of his body. Some contraction of muscles pulled the slick organ from Harry's hands and Ripper bent himself to lap at his penis, cleaning it.

Harry realized, in a startled moment, where he was and what he had done. He looked down at the wet stains on his pants and panicked. If the Dursley's found out, he would be done for. If anything freakish was intolerable to the Dursley's, this would surely be worth of murder. And if his Aunt Marge found out... Harry dared not to think.

The buzzing anxiety in Harry's mind ceased abruptly as Ripper returned his head to Harry's thigh, having completed his ablutions. He looked down at Ripper and thought of everything that had transpired. He thought about the wet stains on his clothes. He thought of the Dursley's delight at his humiliation.

"Thank you," Harry told Ripper, a solution to his quandary having presented itself in whole to Harry's mind.

Harry felt his lower stomach and found that, yes, he had felt but neglected to address the pressure on his bladder there. Harry glanced around and made sure he was not being watched before relaxing himself.

The first wet jet of urine hit the fabric of his pants with a sound like thick paper being torn in another room. Hesitant at first, but with increasing confidence, Harry's bladder emptied itself. The clammy, wet urine stains intersected with and, eventually, covered entirely, the wet patches of dog semen that still dotted Harry's blue jeans.

Once Harry had finished (and Ripper, apparently stimulated, began licking at Harry's jeans), he rose to his feet, found a satisfyingly thick stick stuck among the bramble at the base of the tree, and presented the object to Ripper for inspection.

Ripper sniffed the stick, looked back at Harry, and then took the offer. When, a moment later, Harry snatched it back, Ripper roared to life, growling and yapping. Harry began a tug-of-war with Ripper. To any outside observer (and hopefully the Dursleys), it would appear as if Ripper was attacking Harry.

But Harry could see now that there was no malice in Ripper's eyes, only a playfulness and bond. Something secret between the two of them and it pained Harry that this charade was necessary.

The renewed ruckus had apparently drawn Dudley from whatever television-induced somnolent trance he was engaged with when Harry heard him exclaim, between guffaws: "Mom, look! Harry's peed himself!"

Harry's face drew a hidden smile.


End file.
